


A Shoulder to Lean On

by Fishpaste



Category: Doctor Who (1963)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-21
Updated: 2014-12-21
Packaged: 2018-03-02 17:29:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2820353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fishpaste/pseuds/Fishpaste
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Fifth Doctor has just lost Adric. Who better to help him through it than himself?</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Shoulder to Lean On

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Getting Metaphysical](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Getting+Metaphysical).



> I got prompted to write a story where the Doctor falls asleep on someone. This is the result. Many thanks to Getting Metaphysical for allowing me to borrow her interpretations of the Doctors and their relationships! Thank you! :)

Adric was dead.

The Doctor closed his eyes and gripped the rim of the console even tighter, fighting back the rising tide of emotion. Adric, poor Adric. So proud of his intellect and yet so desperate for approval and acknowledgement. He was dead, and it was all the Doctor’s fault. If he’d only been that little bit faster, stronger, smarter then Adric would still be here in his cluttered little room on board the TARDIS, arguing with the Doctor and teasing Tegan. He should never have taken the boy out of E-Space, the Doctor decided. He should have returned him to his home planet the moment he found him on board. Why hadn’t he? Why did he drag all these companions away from their own lives and families, their own dreams and futures just to keep him, a renegade Time Lord with an antiquated TARDIS, company? Sighing deeply, the Doctor felt his hands moving across the TARDIS’s familiar console without any real thought from him.

Nyssa and Tegan blamed him, he knew. He blamed himself too, if he was honest. But in that half a second when he’d considered taking the TARDIS back, pulling Adric out, he’d stretched out with those senses impossible to describe in English and felt the cold immobile certainty of Adric’s fate. He couldn’t save him without sacrificing the intricately woven web of time. Couldn’t save him. The Doctor could save people, worlds, galaxies, even the Universe at times; but he couldn’t save one silly child who’d got in too deep and died because he trusted the Doctor to save the day. To save him.

The TARDIS hummed at him and he raised his eyes to see what she wanted. He was not overly surprised to see the Intra TARDIS Phase Modulator winking at him and his otherselves’ censored timelines scrolling past the closest display screen. The Doctor allowed himself a one hearted smile, the Old Girl knew him best, knew what he needed even when he didn’t know himself. Someone who understood, in a way Tegan and Nyssa could not. He skimmed through the possibilities presented to him.

Definitely not Four, or any of his younger selves really. They wouldn’t understand and he didn’t want to scare them. His immediate thought was for Six, but he wasn’t sure he could cope with the overwhelming blond right now, too much energy and presence. Seven was definitely out, even Eight was wary of the Doctor’s chessmaster self. Five didn’t know what Seven had done, or would do rather and didn’t want to burden him further. The same went for Nine, a Doctor that had clearly seen too much too soon. Ten and Eleven were like Six, too bouncy and energetic. Five had yet to meet Twelve, and didn’t want their first meeting to be overshadowed by grief. So that left Eight, the Doctor’s butterfly whimsical self. Probably the one who’d started this whole overlapping mess between themselves, though their timeline was now so jumbled and confused it was impossible to say for certain. The Doctor tapped in the request and felt the sudden swoop in his stomach as he leapt between TARDIS’s.

The Eighth Doctor’s TARDIS was quiet and still when he arrived. The Doctor looked around appreciatively at the Jules Verne steampunk look, wondering where the occupant was. He felt the ball of misery in his guts squeeze tighter as he contemplated waiting for hours for the Doctor to come back from whatever adventure he was on now, but before he could reach for the controls again and send himself off to a different TARDIS, probably Ten’s or Six’s, he heads footsteps padding towards the console room. A moment later the Eighth incarnation of the Doctor appeared, tousle haird and without jacket or shoes. He’d probably been asleep, the Fifth Doctor realised and opened his mouth to apologise automatically. But the words froze in his throat and he just stared helplessly at the older Doctor. Eight’s eyes sharpened on seeing him standing there like a lost soul, they were not asleep in the slightest, as bright and glittering as ever. Something in the Fifth Doctor’s hearts eased at the familiar sight.

*****

Eight had actually been asleep, sprawled across a deep sofa in the library. The TARDIS had alerted him to a visitor an he’d hurried down to the console room, not bothering to grab his shoes or jacket. A visitor phasing in could only be another Time Lord and one who could get in so easily and be greeted by his TARDIS like an old friend could only be one particular Time Lord: himself. He was therefore not at all surprised to see the blond cricketer standing next to his console, but the dejected slump to his shoulders and the utter misery in his gaze was very unusual. The Fifth Doctor was one of his more optimistic and cheerful personas, it took a lot to make him truly unhappy- oh.

“Adric?” Eight asked softly. Five nodded once, looking even more guilty and lost. In three long strides Eight has crossed the intervening space and wrapped his arms around his younger self. Five was often perceived as smaller than he actually was, his relatively quiet and modest demeanour frequently overshadowed by the Doctor’s otherselves, but tonight he felt just as small as he was sometimes seen to be, all hunched in on himself, like he was trying to hide behind himself. Eight held him tighter and the younger Time Lord gave a shuddering sigh and clung to his elder. He felt Five bury his face in the shorter man’s hair and detached one of his hands to run it through the cricketer’s blond locks. Five was weeping softly he realised with a pang of sorrow, silent sobs muffled against his future. Closing his eyes as the long ago pain rushed back to pull at his hearts, Eight realised he was speaking, well murmuring really.

“Five, oh my fifth, fivey, fivey, fivey, my poor Doctor…”

Allowing his mouth to spout whatever nonsense it wished, tone was infinitely more important than content here, the Eighth incarnation of the Doctor gently pushed forward with his mind, silently offering Contact. The younger didn’t respond and he drew away again, understanding how raw and confused the Fifth Doctor’s emotions must be. He resumed running a hand through Five’s golden hair, feeling his own grow damp from Five’s tears. Poor Five, this had been the first major death in the Doctor’s life. Oh, he’d lost those dear to him before, distantly the Doctor could hear that beloved voice asking ‘Grandfather’ again. He’d had companions die as well. Sara and Katarina, he should have been able to save them. But Adric had been just a child really, and he’d travelled with the Doctor for a long time. They might not always have got on, but the cricketing Doctor had accepted the responsibility passed down from his Fourth self gladly. And then he’d failed and someone he’d loved had died as a result. Eight’s hearts ached for his Fifth, and for the young maths genius who would never know how vital he had really been in Earth’s history. The Fifth Doctor stifled sobs were slowing now and he choked out a few words;

“I..I should have, sh..should have. Oh, Adric…”

“Hush my darling, oh my sweethearts. It’s okay, you don’t have to hold back here. Oh my fifth…”

Tentively the Eighth Doctor pushed himself forward again telepathically, wanting desperately to soothe the hurt and loss his Fifth was feeling, but again Five pulled away. Eight came to a decision, untangling his limbs from around his previous self he took Five by the hand and led him deeper into the TARDIS. Five followed, too exhausted both physically and mentally to question. Eight pulled open the doors to the library and gently bundled the blond Doctor onto the sofa he’d been occupying earlier.

The library was quiet and comfortable, a cheerful orange fire burning steadily in the grate, ignoring all common sense about where did the fuel come from and the smoke go? Several discarded books lay nearby, along with an empty teapot and cups. Eight sat his past down on the overstuffed sofa and knelt in front of him. Five had stopped crying now and was just watching him dully as Eight eased off his shoes. But as Eight reached up and slid off the Fifth Doctor’s jacket he frowned and pulled away.

“No, Eight…”

“Shhhhh. We don’t have to do anything. I just want you to be comfortable.” Eight smiled suddenly. “Despite how it sometimes appears, I can control my hormones if I choose to.”

The corner of Five’s mouth twitched infinitesimally and Eight marked it as a small victory. He sat down on the sofa next to Five and pulled the other Doctor’s head onto his shoulder, leaning his temple against the blond hair. Five held himself stiffly for half a second then relaxed again, curling up against Eight and staring sightlessly into the dancing orange flames. This time when Eight silently offered Contact the Fifth Doctor allowed the natural barriers in his mind to fall and let the Eighth into his mind.

Five’s mind, usually smooth and flowing and peaceful, like a deep lake or wide river, had stagnated, almost curdled with loss and guilt. Tiny red flickers of anger, at the Cybermen, at himself and at the situation were drowned out by a rising tide of confusion and guilt. Eight poured his mind into the younger, soothing and calming the turbulence, clearing the muddied thoughts and sweeping away the debris of sorrow and pain. He danced through Five’s memories of Adric; winning at chess, deceiving enemies, laughing with Nyssa and Tegan. Five closed his eyes again, remembering quiet times together, madcap adventures, breathless laughter; a hundred thousand tiny moments they had shared together.

_Five? ((young me, mine) friend) are you alright (griefhurtloss)?_

  
_Eight ((elder. Eighth me)help me) it hurts!_

  
_I know (dearhearts, beloved). It (lossgriefpainsorrow) will get better._

  
_Why ((did I) did he)(why didn’t I)_

  
_We tried (remembering) the web of time (balanced(tenuous, so careful)) we couldn’t._

Eight lulled the exhausted Doctor mentally, nudging him towards sleep, the Universe’s natural healer. Eventually he felt the Fifth’s head, still burrowed into his shoulder, grow heavier and his soft breaths even out. The younger mind slipped from his as the cricketing Doctor succumbed to the merciful forgetfulness of sleep. Eight moved Five’s head down into his lap and leaned back into the sofa. The fire before him jumped and crackled softly and he felt the TARDIS’s concern for her out of time pilot.

“He’ll be alright Old Girl. I know he will.”

She hummed in response and the Eighth Doctor reached for his younger incarnations hands, entwining their fingers together and leaning down to press a kiss on his forehead.

“You’ll get through it Doctor. I always did.”


End file.
